Eviyath's Clutch

OOC Time: Sunday September 20th, 2009. 6:39:20 PM.
Season (North Continent): Late winter.
Weather: It is a winter afternoon. Bitter gusts wrack the snowy skies.
Current Location: Galleries (#881) - Zone: Fort Weyr
Room Occupants:
Rags, Saphia, Niles, and Burant

Galleries (#881J)
Level upon tiered level of hard stone seats, best cushioned for comfort if one is to stay long, arc in spacious, showy display — all the better for viewing other spectators, as well as the heated sands so far below. Though centuries-old pillars suspend these galleries high in the air, the mammoth cavern's peak extends dragonlengths higher yet, the grey rock lending an illusion of clouded, nighttime skies that's only enhanced by the constellations of living, growing glows and the intense, perspective-warping heat.
Broad staircases spiral downward to the floor of the cavern, the middle of each step indented by generations of treading feet; a narrow walkway circles northeast towards the dragons' ledges.
Rags, Saphia, Niles, and Burant are here.

You look down onto the sands, craning your neck for a good view.
Hatching Sands (#819J)
Breathless heat blurs the high gray contours of this gigantic cavern: intense, inexorable, it swallows the unaware in mirages of warped vision, sands-scorched feet, sounds that lose their origins in the echo and reecho of vaulting stone. Dim citrine light casts low shadows even when otherwise illuminated, the product of constellations of living, growing glows; they even limn the staircases winding high to the galleries that, like the dragons' ledges, center attention on this chosen home to generation after generation of Fort queens' clutches.
The single exit gapes to the southwest.
You see Goreanth here.
Eleni and M'tr are here.

Urei is already doing his candidate duties in the galleries, a stray broom in hand and he intricately sweeps through the benches, not a speck of dirt is allowed to exist without being carried into the pile. Silence is his mode of functioning, the scrape of the broom against stone is the only noise coming from the rather darkly dressed young man. The movement on the sands is only glanced at before he shrugs and returns to work, focused and undistracted.

On the sands, "Hey, wait!" Eleni scampers after Eviyath, who inevitably wins in the race for the hatching grounds. The gold's banking flight is leisurely, yet still faster than Ellie can run. She makes up for it by calling in between pants, "You beast, first you miss my Turnday, then you leave me behind!"

Rags heard the rumble. Yes he did, and the boy's been waiting to witness his first clutching ever since he arrived to Fort Weyr, so it isn't long before the silent, really loudly dressed boy comes skidding into the entrance, only to dash up the stairs into the galleries. Seats are for lazy adults, and so the boy hems to the rail, waiting for his favorite duo to strike up the band. Maybe he'll catch a drumstick upside the head!

On the sands, In from the bowl creeps a sinuously dark, liquid creature that hisses as he breaks past the entrance. He belches his arrival with a dark, dank presence. One that could only mean that the clutch sire, Goreanth is here to inspect his creations if not celebrate them.

J'rlen follows one of the staircases up.

Burant comes up the steps, having heard about the ruckus in the guard barracks. He's not in uniform. He's off duty at the moment, and he heads towards a familiar boy. Yes, he's certain Rags is a boy by this point. "If you're not careful you're going to slip through that…" He teases gently as he approaches.

In strong contrast to Urei's dark clothing, Saphia is all white aside from her dark hair. She tentatively steps into the moderate darkness of the Hatching Cavern's entrance, letting her eyes adjust before she heads up the steps to the Galleries. Curiosity is what lures her, bright eyes scanning the egg-heavy gold out on the sands. Hey, a ready-to-pop gold hits the sands, gotta mean just one thing. "Eggs," she coo's to herself, voice almost sinister and greedy while navigating her way along the seats towards the cleaning Candidate, stepping in his pile of dirt most likely. She's like that.

Urei's work is momentarily distracted by the rumbling and the arrival of both dragons, his eyes scan the sands and in the process he spots the dirty little boy that is Rags. A clear of his throat and the candidate speaks, the tone most definitely condescending, "Young man, it is not appropriate nor safe for you to position yourself so close to the edge, I highly suggest you find a seat." Yes, this is said while Burant says the same and with the syncing minds the man glances to the guard, "Good day Guard." And then returning to work the candidate does, sweeping carefully.

On the sands, Oh, it's /him./ Eleni comes to a dead halt and looks behind to see what evil presence lurks thither. Her expression is bland, even when she turns again, this time to scan the galleries, perhaps to look for succor. Alas, friendly faces grow scarcer and scarcer at Fort.

Wyn approaches along the narrow walkway from the dragons' ledges.

Curiosity is the leading force behind the considerably slower pace that Niles makes into the galleries. Especially when compared to those more eager to arrive and see the eggs that will soon grace the sands. Tugging at his gloves, he'll be one of those lazy people in search for a nearby seat. Somewhere high, glancing over one shoulder to measure where is the 'best' spot for viewing. Although, in that process, a glimpse of a brown hair and a healer's knot catches his attention. Pressing his lips together, he finds a seat first and foremost before looking back to the sands.

On the sands, Once on the Sands, the ostentatiously bright gold wastes little time in perambulating the vast, soon-to-be-cluttered space and setting up shop. The day opens with a bustle and a bang, and Eviyath produces the first finds in the flea market; a party's in store!

On the sands, Gaudy Destination Shot Glass Egg
On the sands, The surface of the ovoid is practically shining, a light cream colored tone that almost makes the egg look transparent on the hot sands. The shape of the egg is oddly lopsided with the bottom more narrow than the wide-rimmed top, although speckled with the pale sand like salt around the edge. Various five-pointed shapes of assorted rich-looking colors - gold, crimson, navy, jade - scatter the surface of the sides, sparkling as if lighted on their own. Prickly-plant green grows up out of the desert sands, strips that spread into three limbs and tilt away. An imperfection it seems, a trace of a left-behind golden puddle that is reminiscent of a biting liquor settles at the flat bottom.

On the sands, Impossibly Ruffled Dress Egg
On the sands, Yellow as bright as a canary spills forth in a frothy confection that just begs for laughter and motion though this stationary egg can manage neither, hemmed in as it is by bands of satiny ribbon at base and apex in precisely the same shade. Thus held together, tier after tier of gauze and ruffles are free to give the illusion of dancing in the sunshine - until the ribbon frays and holds no more, and the illusion finds reality at last.

J'rlen comes down from the ledges, brushing himself off giving a quick survey of the galleries, nodding to a few familiar facees before turning an eye out to the sands

Coming in amongst the Istan dignitary is Wyn, attired in black leathers to match her tresses, she skids off Isyth with practiced ease and abondons her lifemate for the galleries below. Steely gaze wafts over the crowd only once, not truly registering people or faces before it's the sands and the queen below that will be a pull to her ice cold gaze.

Rags's fingers curl possessively around the rail. Oh no way, man! This is my spot! Even with that expression fleeting across his youthfully pretty face, the boy beams up at Burant. He'll even demonstrate the guard's playful warning by pretending he slipped through, only to swing back up. This was also to give Urei either a heart attack, or an aneurism. But the eggs!!! Sweet soft lips form the mighty 'O' of surprise.

There's more to being present at the clutching than just staring blindly forward and oo'ing or aah'ing at Eviyath's struggle to lay her ovoid-encased children. Indeed, this time is best used to people-watch. Saphia scans the crowd with apathetic blue eyes that come to life and dart to the sands as the crowd bursts with energy at the first two eggs laid. She cants her head. "Does that count as a gold egg?" she asks anyone nearby, dubious.

Burant blinks at the first egg, "Well, they're certainly starting out spectacular." He's not entirely sure /what/ opinion he should have of them just yet, though he grins down at Rags. "Just don't fall through, you don't want to upset the clutch mother, alright?" He suggest in a friendly tone, moving to kneel by the lad. He's too tall to be willing to block others' view by standing. Urei gets a grin and a wink, the wink to mask the slightly worried expression that briefly enters his eyes.

It may be good and well that Niles isn't one of those doing a fair share of people watching. Alright, he is watching 'for' people. Just not all of them as a whole. As such, it may not be a surprise that he notices the presence of other Istans. But just as swiftly, his attention shifts back to another young woman wearing that healer's knot. Then back to the stands, leaning forward on one arm against his knee with both gloves held in the off hand.

Urei stares at Rags for a few moments, although given the man's inability to do anything quickly he just watches the young child try to jump and merely a gasp is released before he states clearly, "The guard speaks wisely, a single misstep could severely disturb the dragons and your life may be in peril." The redhead's fingers tighten a little around the broom handle as he watches the eggs, only a glance to Burant, intense and missing any sort of underlying worry that the guard might be attempting to portray. The eggs are pretty and distracting.

On the sands, Now is not a good time to give the tried-and-true candidate escapade of sneaking onto the sands a go, and Eleni nears the galleries to say as much. She doesn't trust the boys at the rails. "She /will/ eat you," Rags and Burant are told in a deadly serious tone. She's as protective as her queen; she'll have time to gawk at the just-glimpsed flashes of the first shells later.

On the sands, Eviyath croons delight, well pleased with the first fruits of her labors. She leaves the first two eggs uncovered for the public eye, ever the showgirl and concerned with presentation. What she generates next, though, is pure kitsch, a different sort of diversion.

On the sands, I <3 NY T-Shirt Egg
On the sands, Bleach white, crisp curves and not a single line of imperfection on the pure surface. The disruption of the surface is a bright scarlet splotch, although seemingly planned with a pointed bottom and two humps rounding the top. Cromcoal black scribbles above and below the red shape, messy lines that if one squints at the bottom long enough can almost form actual writing, although still indecipherable. Round, simply spherical ovoid sits at about a youth medium size relatively.

On the sands, Dancing Hamster Egg
On the sands, In amongst the jewels and the wood, the old dolls and the wooden treasures stands the one egg whose boomchica-bowwow beat will surely be the life of the party! White and tan in a fuzzy sort of way, the patterning on this shell plays with the mind's eye, leading one to the illusion of fuzziness and fur. But that isn't all! No no no! Bring in those harpers, strike up a lively tune and this wee hamster of an egg will surely get it's middle rockin' and rollin' to the beat of one crazy tune.

Being trained to 'hear' and 'see' everything, Rags was busy ogling the eggs while having both ears cocked to the crowd behind him, so when Saphia mentions a gold, the boy's eyes saucerize. Both eggs are peered at in brewing speculation, but being a novice weyrfolk leaves him quite confused and tugging insistently on Burant's sleeve while pointing from the woman to the eggs and back. Try and translate that!

On the sands, Don't forget clutch-dad in this little warning either. He's just not protective of his eggs, it's the thrill of fear, the taste of terror that he digs. Even now, as his 'mate' lays out the fruit of his loins, the folks in the galleries are leered at, one apparently coming into focus and being the inspiration for the wad of drool Goreanth drops on the sands.

Perhaps feeling the weight of someone's attention on her, Saphia looks towards the area where Niles is seated, eyes very suddenly zeroing in on him. There is no debate of emotion on her face, just a blank and somewhat probing stare. And then she's up and weaving around bodies and between seats on a clear course towards Niles. "I know you," which must be her way of saying hello. She neatly folds herself to sit next to him or usher away whoever /is/ sitting next to him in order to claim the spot. "Did we have sex?" She never admitted to remembering how she knew him.

Wyn is wearing the mask of cool indifference. Sure she can appreciate the goings-on down below, it wasn't so long ago that her perspective on the matter was the same as some of those around her today, but schooling and duty has come to serve her well and all she'll do in reckognition of the eggs being displayed is knit her arms in front of her and turn a polite nod to one of the riders at her side.

Oh, but Rags was late catching Eleni's warning, which is a total fail of his training. When it does seep in though, the child sticks his tongue out at her and points dramatically at the ugly bronze and then to himself with a proprietary grin.

S'tao walks in.

On the sands, Goreanth actually might eat unruly spectators. Eleni had forgotten to take him into account; she was too busy trying to forget that he existed. "If there's a small clutch, I'm blaming you," she mutters under her breath. The Weyrwoman ignores the child in the galleries once the warning's given, considering it more her duty - or due - to pace down the galleries from the sands-side to courteously greet visiting notables.

On the sands, Eviyath sifts through the sands with her long talons, searching for who-knows-what. A long chasm develops, a hidey-hole to store childhood's riches. In a moment, her treasure trove is revealed: a burst of crystalline clarity nestles next to faded, well-loved tan.

"We will stay up here, Ma'am, no fear of that," Burant's tone is solemn, though his voice carries clearly. He looks at Rags and frowns a little, "What? The yellow egg?" He glances back at Saphia and tries to figure out what the boy might mean, "Oh, you're wondering if it's a queen's egg? I don't know. They're usually that color but… well… shiny." He's not sure if it applies in this case. "There aren't a lot of them laid." He looks down at the boy, "Was that what you were asking?" Then he lowers his voice, and lets the worry show in his tone. "Do /not/ come between a queen dragon and her eggs, no matter who you're with…"

On the sands, Lost Little Marble Egg
On the sands, The burst of colour is like a breath of life being blowing right into a small glass orb. Citrine and sapphire play at a tango with emerald lingering in the background just waiting for his turn at destiny. On the outer edges, bubbles of sky and cloud shimmer with crystal clarity, drawing in the gaze to a spectacular centre of pyrotechnical display. Like a starburst within a honeydrop, this little marble is the epitome of childhood imagination and wonderment; the perfect production of a craftmans' loving labour.

On the sands, Old Ragdoll Egg
On the sands, Worn and faded and patched-up beyond belief, this saggy little egg has been dragged to-and-fro and back again with all the love there is to give. Wispy tendrils, the colour of paled umber, spring out in a chaotic array of whimsical follicles, enacting a classic display of a raggedy-doll's 'do while faded and sun-spotty tan fabric hugs the rounded shell's simple contours. Despite the rough seam lines that threaten to fail or, in certain cases already have, this egg still promises to be that ever comforting presence, through good times and bad, from now until the very end.

Poor timing. All around. After noting Saphia from a distance, Niles has turned his attention towards the eggs as they make their debut on the sands. And for a few moments, he's actually interested. So, there may be no surprise when the healer settles down beside him with a greeting. And a question to boot. One that has him almost shifty away quickly, sitting straighter so he can simply stare at the brunette incrediously. "No." And Faranth help him, he manages to keep that objection muted. Shrugging with every intent to keep that distance of a few handspans, he supplies, "You remind me of someone, that's all."

On the sands, Speaking of visiting notable… M'tr will eventually saunter in, his attitude in perfect form with the sneer and arrogance well in place. Goreanth continues to ooze his way across the sands beady eyes flickering in amongst the folk before turning back to fall into place with the man he claimed as his. Eleni might get a nod, if she's at all lucky and he's in the mood to be gracious.

J'rlen spots a few more istans giving some more polite nods before moving up closer to the railings to get a better view, "Certainly a different perspective now." he mutters to nobody in particular

Urei appears to be reassured that the silent boy will not be jumping into the sands and he returns to his current duty of sweeping, meticulously. His intense blue eyes are once again distracted by M'tr's entrance, a stare that analyzes every step of the Weyrleader before he tries to return to focusing on his sweeping, sweep sweep sweep.

A late arrival comes down off of the viewing ledges, the sound of booted feet lost in the hubbub of people and dragons ringing through the giant cavern. S'tao nods to a few familiar Fortians before looking for the usual Istan contingent that comes to these events, there at the top of the galleries he sees at least one of them and heads that way to stand beside Wyn. "I missed the beginning I see, pity. How many have been laid so far?" the Istan Weyrleader asks in a hushed voice. "Wonder how Naomith's clutch will turn out this time." It'll be their turn to host eggs on their own black sands soon.

On the sands, Eleni seems not to catch the queries surrounding the yellow-hued egg, though she does, in her own time, give the eggs now laid a considering look. "Touch small," a Holder from Ruatha remarks in her hearing, considering himself knowledgeable in the matter; Ellie, in response, says something demurring about variability. At least in public, she maintains the image of a unified Weyr. M'tr, as soon as he's spotted, is given due regard.

On the sands, Eviyath doesn't leave her valuables revealed for long; they disappear as if they'd never existed, save for two rounded bumps amongst the undulating sands. The queen turns to rifle through a different sector, discarding what looks like cast-off junk until, with a huff and a gasp, something unexpected comes to light.

On the sands, Pile 'o Junk Egg
On the sands, A sheet of white spreads with grayed ripples across the irregular elliptical plains, giving foundation to what layers atop. Mounds of rubbish dapple the shell in a nearly endless array of colors, textures, and shapes, masking the surface with an illusion of depth. From a distance the chaos looks as if it is nothing more than an unrecognizable mish mash of debris, but if one were to take the time to get up close and personal, the truth of the treasure buried within the mass of mayhem shall be revealed.

On the sands, Missing Masterpiece Egg
On the sands, Light touches down with purposeful kisses to illuminate that which represents the truth: polished ebony armor, expressive hands, faces that both speak loud and whisper softly thoughts that dwell within veiled hearts and minds. Faint impressions of crimson, indigo, saffron, burgundy, and olive are garnished with gold, only to be oppressed by shadows and the ever demanding presence of ominous black. An overall sense of despair, outrage, and remorse wraps chaos about the ovoid.

J'rlen spots S'tao and heads over nad his and wyn's direction, "Evening S'tao, Wyn. Keeping up the Ista end myself as well. I haven't been counting the eggs, though looks like a fine clutch so far."

Eleni is forgotten as she drifts away and Rags returns to his prior 'conversation'. A nod to Burant, accompanied by a smile, is confirmation the guard got the question right. There's too many eggs now and the 'one' that Saphia mentioned is lost to numbers and sheer awe. J'rlen is spied as he comes close, as is his knot, but all the boy knows is that he looks like someone important and not Fortian. A wave hails the brownrider, but then he's gone and the child turns back to peer at the growing mass of eggs.

"Not quite a dozen yet I don't think," Wyn confirms as the count and more eggs arrive. To the mention of Naomith and her soon-to-be clutch the young woman nods carefully. "Do you think her clutch will be alright, given… well. You know." Sidelong glance is given to her cousin. He knows what she's talking about there, the fine line that makes up her lips defines her own concern for the Istan weyrwoman that is unable to attend today's events. J'rlen will also get his due attention with another nod and a wiggle of her fingers, but otherwise Wyn is all business today.

"Oh, thank Faranth," Saphia admits. "You really aren't my type." But she'll sit intently watching him, just as intrigued with his familiarity as she is with the unfamiliar eggs being laid beyond the rails of the Galleries. Let's see how long Niles can sit under her stare before squirming.

On the sands, "There's eight." Eleni is sharper of sight than her casual attention to the eggs being laid intimates. Of course, she has the benefit of insider info. The newly minted Fortian Weyrwoman has progressed down the line far enough to be within earshot of the Istans, and extends a cautious smile that includes Wyn and S'tao. She treads carefully in light of her last exchange with the bronzerider. "Sorry to hear about Corana. I would have come in person, but we're not betweening at the moment."

On the sands, Eviyath paces, pausing occasionally to nose this spot, then the next. Unsatisfied, she searches for the perfect bed of pillowy golden sand. Finally, she elects a place right in the center of the hatching grounds, and painstakingly delivers her delicate burden.

On the sands, Porcelain Egg
On the sands, At first glance, a gauzy powder blue veil wraps around this egg's circumference, a stream of rippling color between two white poles. It's only upon closer inspection that the true artistic beauty of this egg's porcelain surface can be appreciated. Intricate details in the finest of cerulean lines draw attention in so that it is easy for the eye to get fixated on the smallest of delicate and repetitive lines. But amongst its clutched siblings, this egg is so easily overlooked, so quickly ignored for its seemingly boring portrait. It might seem like one of a hundred, but to the sensitive eye it becomes one in a hundred.

On the sands, Painted Teacup Egg
On the sands, Larger than its fellows, this egg nonetheless seems as delicate as any glass-blown bauble, its shell gleaming smooth and white against the rougher hatching ground sands. Robin's egg blue blossoms across that pearly shell, tracing exquisite patterns whose graceful arches and tiny details are deceptively simple, while uncurling leaves and reaching vines deepen to cobalt in the shadows of each unfolding bloom.

On the sands, Swarovski Crystal Egg
On the sands, Jewels of turquoise, sky and rose lay in wait for the discerning gaze. Encased in a decadent layer of pale golden links, this egg's true beauty won't be noticed until the light of day touches upon its multi-faceted design. Rainbows will be created only when the light hits it just -so-, but oh what a display it will be when compared to its unique little siblings out upon those hot sands.

Niles glances briefly in the direction of the Istan contingent, where he probably should be. But in his short-sighted wisdom, he's sitting rather than near the railing next to Saphia. Her comment, however, elicits a smirk and a wry response. "Likewise." Beat. "Look," he begins firmly, not fully yielding to that gaze. "You remind me of someone that I haven't seen in turns. You seemed to be interested in the eggs earlier, though."

S'tao flicks two fingers from his brow and a nod towards J'rlen, one of his wing before considering the tally as given him by the weyrwoman beside him. "A dozen so far? Not a bad number. Naomith's should be alright, she's not too upset so far by Corana's condition." As the Fortian passes by, he will at least nod back in an ever polite manner, not about to bring up old grievances here on such an occassion. "Understandable Weyrwoman Eleni. I'll convey your regrets to Corana." Not that he expects the woman in the coma to hear or understand what's being said around her. Leaning closer to Wyn, he murmurs quietly. "The healers haven't been optimistic. If she doesn't wake soon, I'm afraid we might have to do something drastic."

Saphia entirely disregards Niles' words, except perhaps the part about her looking familiar. Recognition dawns and Saphia reaches out with intention to poke him with one of her dainty, boney, and probably uncomfortably pointy little fingers, all stained by redwort from Turns of her apprenticeship. "Giles!" she exclaims. "You're my cousin Giles!" And she'll try to poke him everytime his name is (incorrectly) uttered.
Harsh, cold and unwavering. Wyn merely glances down to Eleni on the sand and returns the greeting at least in the physical sense. She's heard the story already and will simply defer to Tig on this occassion. It's neither her place to take up the lead. But she will blink at S'tao's words. "What do you mean by that? What sort of drastic measure would we need to be taking?" Concern for Corana and for the status of the Weyr in general paints across her features and turns calm to unease. "She is going to wake up, isn't she?"

On the sands, A gold dragon is no minor thing, and the extra weight brought on by unclutched eggs makes Eviyath move ponderously, each sinking step carefully considered lest she become the bull in the china shop, blundering amongst vulnerable eggs. She half-buries the fragile trio just laid in a protective, insulating layer of sand, then treks towards an untouched, nearly neglected corner of the hatching grounds far away from the entrance. Here she deposits a stinkbomb, then vacates the area as quickly as she can.

On the sands, Ssssso Stinky Egg
On the sands, Someone snuck in a squalid sneaker with a suffocating stench. The sienna strings are systematically strung to synchronize symbiosis between skuzzy silver, smutty snow white, and sooty sloe. Serious scum symbolizes a tramp's scandalous scamperings as scabs of slime are slovenly shed to sully its serene surroundings. This shockingly smelly sphere shamefully spoils the sands for its siblings; a sure sign of its sire.

Rags takes a small break from the eggs to peer about the galleries, noting knots and faces, along with bits and pieces of what they are saying. This is all stored into the vast empty vault of his skull. Niles and Saphia in particular are peered at since they are close by, but their conversation makes absolutely no sense to the boy so they are summarily dismissed. He isn't close enough to really hear much of the Istan's conversation, so it's back to the eggs his attention goes.

On the sands, Eleni lingers by the Istans rather than immediately moving on once pleasantries and condolences are exchanged. One assumes she stays there out of concern for Corana, though she can't hear the details of the exchange.

He was distracted for the first poke, perhaps not reading lips but attempting to discern facial expressions. The second poke and the resulting name causes the trader to nearly leap out of his seat before moving to fend off what might be a third poke. Only one of his many family members makes that mistake. "Niles, Saphia," he corrects, briefly noting Rags in passing before turning a wary eye towards his confirmed cousin. "Shards, can't you get that right?"

On the sands, Unimpressed as usual, M'tr begins to stroll the sands, kicking up sand and inspecting the eggs of Goreanth's creation. Neither pleased nor displeased, his view on such things is to defer rearing duties to the queen and her rider. He's here only because etiquette requires it, though he'd much rather be further within the confines of Fort playing with his newest pair of aquisitions. Something does catch his gaze though.

Those Istans. Rags gets a glare and the man makes some slight signal before turning back to skulk amongst the eggs. Goreanth is still actively moving as well, but that inky bronze has paused at sands' edge to peer hungrily up into the crowd. There's something up there that he wants, or at least it's tickling at his tastebuds. Belching out another hiss, he takes one step, then another towards those galleries….

On the sands, As if to make up for the disaster of the last egg (it was clearly of Goreanth's making, not her own!), Eviyath finds a central location to produce a riot of color in the form of three clashing eggs. Mismatched, patchworked, and blinkingly bright, the three distinct spheres threaten to meld into one discordant, yet utterly glorious cacophony.

On the sands, The Tie Dye Guy Egg
On the sands, Swirling, twirling, whirling, curling kaleidoscope rainbows trip the light fantastic about this egg from bow to aft, and back. Yellow frays into red, giving life to orange, while blue infringes, bleeding a starburst of purple. Green flourishes where pink wanes, yet somehow amongst all this conquest of color, white remains unbiased and pure.

On the sands, Patchwork Quilt Egg
On the sands, It looks at first like a riot of mismatched colors and patterns, as if a random assortment of egg shards had been gathered from past hatchings and pasted onto a new shell. But even the bright colors cannot hide the regular spacing of evenly sized squares, the careful way they all fit together, and the beauty of things old being made anew.

On the sands, Old Christmas Lights Egg
On the sands, Plug in this egg and you'll be in for quite the display of colour and warmth that harkens back to a more festive time of celebration and family. Set upon a dark background, speckles of light flicker and burst into the forefront in a cacophony of display that enchants like none other. The only thing that is missing is the constant thrumming of harmonized voices to sooth away the bitterest bite of High Reaches' breath, though that faintly spiced scent that hovers all around promises of mulled wine and a story by the burning hearth.

Burant stays where he is, shifting his weight a little to keep his legs from going to sleep. His eyes are largely on the eggs, though the observant might notice occasionally his glance flicks back to the boy periodically, making sure that he's where he's suposed to be. He frowns slightly as he spots M'tr, but that is the only indication he gives that he's even spotted the man.

Rags didn't pass, he didn't move, but his eyes did pass over Niles and Saphia, so that's probably what it was. The amber brightness of his eyes translates to excitement, only to be dimmed when he's given the unspoken order. With a forlorn glance to the eggs, and a greedy grip of the rail, the boy quietly scampers up to where the Istans are, quickly sinking into the crowd masses around them with an ear bent to their conversation.

Saphia gapes at Niles and purses her lips to toss a more violent and purposefully mean poke towards the young man to punish him for feigning ignorance. "You knew who I was and pretended otherwise?" One more poke attempted just for the fun of it. "We're /family/, Niles! That's rude, you know. And don't you 'shards' me, young man. I got the jist of your name correct. The 'iles' part was right. Anyway, you ought to be glad I remember you at all, it's not like we've seen much of each other over the Turns." And she'll turn her nose up to him and give a glance out across the sands.

S'tao does not allow his expression to reveal too much, only a few words might escape to those nearby hoping to hear what he might be revealing to Wyn. "The healers have no idea when she might wake, but it seems that it may take longer than they hope far. In either case, the longer her coma goes on, the longer it would take for her to recover either way. We're looking at a long convalescence no matter what." Pausing to look about warily, his voice drops lower. "We may need to look for a new senior." And with that he eyes Wyn rather thoughtfully a none too subtle hint.

On the sands, Eleni's bearing is stiff, which can be put down to a number of factors, including the occasion of playing host to an assemblage of Pern's luminaries. Of course, Eleni usually revels in such tasks. Perhaps she doesn't like M'tr and his bronze wandering among her eggs. A decision presents itself: to stay and perhaps find the chance to converse with the Istans further, or to turn back and join the man she pretends to tolerate, even like. In the end, the latter wins out; Fort's concerns precede those of Ista to her mind, and she doesn't dare leave M'tr unaccompanied among the eggs.

Urei has finished sweeping at this point, leaving the areas that he had been cleaning fully absent of dirt, dustbunnies, or spare buttons that seem to just fall off at unfortunate locations. The candidate, wielding the broom idly, then seems to be comfortable enough to find a place to sit and starts pacing down the steps. A glance offered to S'tao and Wyn, recognized Istan Riders and then he finds a seat nearby Burant, a stare offered to the guard before he is distracted by the eggs

Burant frowns and watches Rags go. He straightens, and stretches, standing just long enough to draw protests from those behind him. With an apology and a grimace he wanders 'in search of a seat' and the trek takes him loosely after Rags. Though he does pause to converse, over the possibility of a gold with one of the lower cavern's men, though he manages to escape before he's pressured into betting.

On the sands, Eviyath isn't quite done adding to the exhibition of eggs on offer for people's perusal. Browsing past a few clusters of already-laid eggs, the gold adds to the disarray. The eggs she leaves behind have no rhyme or reason — a shell the color of molding timber, another of grainy broomwood, a third of tarnished silver — left in her wake for others to discover and restore to their intended promise.

On the sands, Leaky Old Wooden Bucket Egg
On the sands, Well worn, well used this egg's circumference is a weathered and aged bucket of a shell, bound securely with what might have been old iron rings at some point in its short-lived life. Those rings, now rusted beyond recognition, still do their duty, but barely so, at either end of this oval's frame, hugging in the cracks and fissures that threaten leak this egg's inhabitant out in a moment's notice.

On the sands, Really? A Back Scratcher? Egg
On the sands, Elongated oval, almost so much that the egg practically tips on the side. Broomwood tans, with swirls of dark klah and light buff, color the shell with the grain moving across the length of the surface. Near the bottom are disruptions of the linear coloring, sharp 'claws' of taupe curve around the round edges, looking able to scratch anything nearby. The matte surface of the long, narrow egg has a rather rough quality to it. Upon feeling the shell there is a coarse quality, as if rubbing against it may relieve an itch.

On the sands, Tarnished Jewelry Egg
On the sands, An unruly tangle of knotted silver chains and worn leather thongs bind this egg as securely as any shackles, though the uncharted maze of interconnected links and unhooked clasps leave hope that it may yet wriggle free. Dulled by time, even Rukbat's light draws no glow from old metal and forgotten jewelry, but something gleams from within the mass of tarnished frippery, a here and then gone again glimpse of what treasure may well lie below the curve of an imprisoning shell.

Wyn has already had some conversations like this with Vyune and her own dragon. They've always ended with the woman being more disgruntled or thoughtful than when the conversation begin. So don't let it be a surprise if she starts a bit with S'tao eyeing. "What. Me?" She pauses for half a beat, eyeing him right back. "Soteria is perfectly capable and if you are going to continue as Weyrleader, it would be much more…. acceptable. If you caught her." And not me. Kay? Sure he's got his fair share of groupies back home, but to Wyn he's family and family? You just don't go there…

There's a lot that Niles should be paying attention to, tries to pay attention to. Rags look is just one of many things that he's acutely aware of before it's no longer an issue. If only because Saphia's drawing attention and maybe himself by extension. Lifting both hands to fend off his cousin with a grimace, the approach of a dragon nearer to the galleries doesn't bother him. What does is the poking. "Don't blame me for that. Hey!" Reaching for or just keeping the young healer's hands away, he sighs with a shake of his head. "And you've always misnammed me. I thought it was you. The name just proved it." In an attempt to divert, he tries, "You're missing the clutching."

Rags takes time out of his 'work' to catch sight of the newest eggs on the sands, and while eggs are cool just for the fact they have really little dragons squished up in them, these last three confuse him. One of them looks really really old, therefore must be Goreanth's fault. A bunk egg for sure. Burant is spied following him, or seeming to, and the boy's eyes narrow.

At the newest weyrwoman's discomfiture, S'tao has to crack a smile. "You're a possibility though Wyn. Ista trains all of their weyrwomen well but the only two likely to rise soon are yours and Soteria's. I've nothing against her, even if she's a Southerner, they've done right us for a long time." He finally gives Wyn a disgruntled look. "Am I that abhorent to you, Wyn? You're no closer to me than Tia, but you've all been close to me in name only." And for less than two turns at that. "Would it be that awful?" Sighing, he doesn't wait for a reply from the woman that has the same piercing cold eyes as his own. "I'll let fate and tradition decide the matter if it should come to this, whomever's queen rises next. She'll be the one."

On the sands, A dragon approaching the galleries? Goreanth is /at/ the galleries and looming rather ominously over one group near the railings. His nostrils are flairng and that snaggle-toothed muzzle is swaying back and forth trying to locate just where the scent is coming from. Then! He finds it! Amongst a crowd and showing some kind of violence however subtle it is. Ah sweet violence. His antics draw the attention of Fort's Weyrleader, the man scowling darker and darker with every passing moment. "Goreanth! What are you doing?" The bronze? He's leeeeering. Dark hair, blues eyes. And no, not the one at the top of the galleries, she's kinda stinky.

Urei was sitting next to Burant and now watches Rags and the guard arise and move, which of course given the Harper's training in observation causes him to carefully watch the other two. At this point though it looks a little ridiculous with his neck craning and so he just returns to the eggs, leaving his ear open as well. But then there is the antics of the evil bronze and the candidate just stands swiftly and starts to back away from the creature's head to find a less endangered seat.

On the sands, Eleni dearly wants to mimic, 'yeah, what is he doing?' and add on quite pointedly, 'ruining my clutching!' but she bites her lip and shares the sentiment with her tiring queen, who seems to be nearing the last stages.

On the sands, Eviyath doesnt have much left in her after her hard day's labors. She flags, resting several moments on an as-yet unmolested place and dropping her head until she's eye-level with the yellow sands stretching out as if a horizon. There, she finds something worth moving for, bringing herself to bear the last offerings of the jumbled-up flea market: an egg as precious as a collector's item, and another whispering flights of fancy at its core.

On the sands, Beloved Collectable Droid Egg
On the sands, A metallic cap of silver upon the wider convex supplies functional rectangular blue panels, while three smaller circles bespeak a more organic practical nature. The same blue generates a ringed segue to pristine white, and returns again and again as a characteristic theme throughout. Deceptive lines create the appearance of moveable apparatus, giving the impression of weaponry, tools, and compartments that make a harmless looking entity into a force to be reckoned with.

On the sands, The Unsorted Books Egg
On the sands, Through a haze of dust and grit of unspoken years lingering upon the arched surface, a gathering of paper bound wonders lies in wait for any curious hand to reveal the treasure underneath. Illusory jutting corners stick out in many directions, though the lines of bindings and spines tend to line up atop of each other, for the riches found here are books of varying age. Some are classic with well worn brown leather covers, a few bear the reds and clashing blues of the trashy romance, while others are simply primers with their covers gone from white to yellow as they became more antiquated. Yet buried amongst them, a seeker may yet find their hearts desire in some forgotten tome of lore.

Saphia doesn't give heed to any stares she might be drawing towards herself and her cousin for their behaviour. Her brow knits together in a childish glower, complete with eyes narrowed. Her hands are caught for the time being. "I haven't /always/ misnamed you, it was one time!" She leans a little closer to her cousin, enunciating her syllables. "One. Time." At which time she'll wriggle free her hands and cross them infront of her, bright eyes darting to the big bronze head just over the railings. Time to be quiet and act like she's paying close attention to Eviyath. "Ooo, look at that pair of eggs!"

At the galleries? Oh. Erm. That may stop the unfairly 'beating' by poking from one cousin to another as the trader turns about to see a large muzzle invading the galleries. And it's a bronze one belonging to the Fort's Weyrleader, as the question shouted from the sands registers in his ears. "What -is- he doing," comes the mutter from Niles' lips, the 'discussion' becoming quickly shelved in his thoughts. Almost. The frown across his features in response to Saphia's words begs differently that his thoughts are fashioning a retort that isn't spoken.

Burant simply finds an empty seat near by, and otherwise seems to be fully and completely absorbed in the hatching. He doesn't spare a glance towards Rags, though his ears are currently fully open. There's certainly plenty going on to absorb his attention.

She can't help but sigh a little at her cousin, blue eyes narrowing pointedly at S'tao. Mirror blue eyes to be exact. "You're not abhorent at all Tig, but you do come with a rather dangerous weyrmate." One she'd rather not be on the receiving end of a rebuff or disgruntled confrontation. "If not for him, half the girls in the Weyr would be pursuing you." And probably a good number of the guys too. "It's just," she stuggles for something and resigns back to her orginal complaint. "Your family. Regardless of blood." Which, despite her complaint, should also be taken as compliment because trust comes no thicker than within the binds of family ties.

What he hears confuses the egg right out of Rags. He'll even scrunch up his face and grunt as he works at trying to labor it out, because what he's hearing… that just couldn't be. A secretive glance is caught of S'tao and Wyn, questioning green-haloed eyes dragging back and forth between.

On the sands, Goreanth has landed his ugly little eyes on Saphia and stares straight at her. Nice try. He leans in closer and closer still, the not-so-faint stench of yesterdays lunch clawing out to greet her personally. If she keeps up that act he might even drool on her. "Goreanth!" Yeah, that would be M'tr calling his dragon to order.

S'tao recalls those early days as Weyrleader, when indeed there had been a few speculative looks and some less than subtle advances, and how could he forget the violent response from his weyrmate? The thing is, despite how many times Seph has caught Naomith, the fiesty redhead has never actually knifed Corana. Ahem. "You've never known the heat and overwhelming moment of a queen's flight yet Wyn." he says softly, not intending to upset his cousin but rather as a small warning. "It's the last thing you'll be thinking about then. But who knows, Lilyth might indeed rise first and it'll be all moot." Those matters are set aside as he peers down towards the railing and the bronze nosing over it. "What by the first egg is that one doing?" He snorts quietly. "Impatient isn't he?" The comment comes on some small assumptions as to Goreanth's intent.

On the sands, "Does he normally do this sort of thing?" Eleni sounds sweet enough, though in actuality she's trying to calculate just how many holders are freaking out. Goreanth is not your neighborhood benevolent dragon. The Weyrwoman clears her throat delicately and adds, "The caverns are prepared. I assume you want to host those who came?" The Weyrwoman acts as if she's not being ignored but carrying on a normal conversation with M'tr, despite that impossibility. She hasn't decided if it would be better to risk Holders getting a glimpse of workings of Fort's running dictatorship or flaunt tradition and risk disapproval.

Urei seems to just be watching in his little corner, away from the stinky bronze and his stinky-ness and his stinky breath, the Candidate actually is starting to climb over seats as he moves away, eyes watching the Weyrleader and his lifemate carefully. Just in case the bronze decides he's hungry for Harper instead.

J'rlen snorts a bit at the poking snout and leans over to S'tao, "Let me guess, you've infected the Fort bronzes with the Ista bronze tendency to drool on people."

On the sands, Eviyath seems finished, as she now concerns herself with protecting her clutch rather than adding to it. This mostly involves positioning herself in such a way that she remains between the still-soft eggs and ugly Goreanth. The final tally is small for a Pass at twenty, but except for a few brownish eggs, the clutch seems sound./

There is no ignoring Goreanth's breath, and Saphia's face twists with disgust only moments before she vocalizes the agony of suffering the bronze's revolting breath in a long, drawn out whine punctuated by a cough. "Oh Faranth, I think he's trying to kill us," she gags, words cried out only moments before she clamps her hands over her mouth and nose. She starts to try wriggling away from the rotten muzzle of the beast and join others in escaping the stench. "I should've worn that dragonhealer's jacket; I'll never get that smell out of this wool."

Ista's Weyrleader has her on that point. Wyn has no experience when it comes to flights or the lust that it generates in the moment of. As a result, the disgruntled young woman clamps her mouth shut, rebuilds her icey wall and glares down at the indicated bronze. "Shards if I know," she mutters with a firm line representing her pressed lips.

Hazard of standing next to Saphra? That odor. Not even Niles is able to maintain a straight face as his features as he clears his throat with a clear step backwards. "I think he's at least been fed," comes the response uncensored before taking yet another step back and clearing the way for the healer with him. "Looks like he's ignoring me," he notes before looking towards the sands in search for Goreanth's rider out of reflex.

Rags has heard enough and now it's getting boring and soppy. With a quick glance over his shoulder at Burant, the kid puts his mind to blending, all the while silently berating himself for wearing his 'look at me!' clothes today. He'll wind and tangle through the crowds as they start to depart, or are caught up in whatever Goreanth the Ugly is up to. In no time at all he's disappeared with the canny knack of one who has learned the art of invisibility.

On the sands, No, you probably won't Saphia. Wool is such a sponge for those kind of stenchs. Unfortunately Goreanth just won't make it that easy for the woman trying to escape - Again he lurches, which unfortantely for her and those around results in another more… liquidy belch that aims to land on that young healer if she doesn't move quick enough. He drool on her too, but since that's apparently an Istan thing he'll leave it to the ooze he's just offered instead. "Goreanth!" Again M'tr scowls, his own evil gaze landing on the girl in the stands before he points, "Go clean yourself up and find a spot in the candidate barracks." With that order given, and without waiting to see if the girl will respond or not he'll abondon her for M'tr's wrath and his future offspring on Fort's Sands.

S'tao was right after all and only recognizing the trader beside the girl he ahhhs softly. "Looks like they've gotten another candidate. Can't say I haven't done that myself last clutch." Though his dragon left the people alone. Peering out at the eggs again and the straining queen, he looks to see if there are more coming. "Nearing the end I think, maybe? I've a feeling this one might not be as generous as the one Lilyth present last time."

On the sands, Eleni looks relieved that Goreanth's advance on the galleries turns into nothing nasty - nastier than it was, at least. The blonde woman tries see past the bronze in order to identify the girl he's chosen. "Weyrleader?" she tries again, sounding timid.

On the sands, M'tr sighs, turning around to stare blankly at Eleni. "Yes?" Beat. "Right, send them off to the caverns on Fort's generousity." He waves her off then, one more heated glare for the galleries and one or two within before he turns on a heel and barrels out into the bowl and what other dastardly things he has planned for the night.

Burant frowns at the whole exchange, but resists the urge to say anything. He still hasn't finished what he came to this spot for, though he chews his lower lip thoughtfully and his blue eyes narrow at nothing in particular, though for the moment his gaze is directed towards the sands. His face freezes over in an otherwise curiously interested expression.

Saphia shoots a glare at Niles, her blue eyes fiercely settling on him from over her stained fingertips but whatever she intended to say is replaced by more gagging and scurrying to escape the fumes but not quickly enough to dodge the ooze. With her jacket stained with Goreanth's phlegm, Saphia frantically tries to tear off the buttons and shed the coat quickly. She looks towards the commanding voice, and upon catching M'tr's finger pointed in her direction, Saphia stares. "He's got to be kidding," she mutters quietly and casts an unreadable eye at Niles. "You. Stick around til I'm cleaned up." As she begins to head out, Urei and his white knot are spotted and just barely gives him a touch of a glare before hurrying off.

On the sands, Once M'tr's gone, Eleni can look relieved, though a trace of annoyance presents itself too in the moment it takes to transition to a public demeanor. "We would like to thank you for coming," she proclaims to the galleries, falsely bright. "And enjoin you to join us in the caverns to celebrate." Announcement made, the Weyrwoman moves to try to intercept the recipient of Goreanth's odorous attentions.

Niles is almost repentant for his cousin's sake, shooting her a look as M'tr gives the confirmation behind Goreanth's .. smelly interest. There's a mixture of emotions that nearly surface before being squashed briskly and a lopsided grin offered to Saphia. "I'll have t— What?" All traces of that grin are evaporating as he's being 'told' to stay. Or should stay. He looks positively rebellious at that pronouncement, lifting his voice to call back, "You could ask nicely." He may wait or leave a message, just because of that.

Urei is glared at, that is not very nice at all, but the candidate does stare right back at Saphia with his neutral expression and watches her head out. Instead of trying to be helpful and maybe assisting Saphia with her settling, he returns to the front of the gallery to observe the eggs for a final time.

"She looks to be done," Wyn confirms rather belatedly. So lost in her own world of thoughts the young weyrwoman didn't exactly pick up on S'tao's words until she received the mental nudge from Isyth. "Not sure if I feel sorry for that one or happy." Ick. Based on the expressions around, it's not a pleasant experience, that's for sure.

The Istan bronzerider has to agree, nodding as he looks to turn towards the viewing ledges. "There is a certain… awkward atmosphere." he says carefully, once again keeping his voice low. "I'll not speak of it here." Not where he can be overheard. "Do you wish to stay for the celebrations or return to Ista?" It is just a simple offer to escort since their senior is out of commission.

Q'luin follows one of the staircases up.

"We should at least make an appearance and show how Ista stands unified and in support of Fort." As much as she'd rather go home, Wyn did pay great attention to her lessons during weyrlinghood and this is one of those occassions where duty comes before preference.

Burant grimaces and stands as the general exodous begins. He goes looking for Rags for the moment, overtly this time, rather than covertly, hoping the boy hadn't managed to slip off into the crowds. He owes him writing lessons after all.

Niles is still weighing the choices. Stay. Go. Be a good cousin. Try to rid himself of the stench that he may or may not be imagining. It's something that remains rolling through his thoughts. With no shortage of a frown, the trader makes a decision. Stepping off towards the direction indicated for the celebrations, he'll see how long it'll take his cousin to reappear.

A shadow stalks up the stairs and into the galleries with barely a pause to peer at the eggs, which seem to have already been laid and covered. An exhaustive moody sigh drains out at the notice - Q'luin is late. Midway up he pauses to peer about and try and ascertain just how much he might have missed and who managed to make it to the grand event. Seeing familiar faces up high, the bronzerider aims to swim against the tide spilling out of the cavern and makes his way towards the Weyrleader.

On the sands, Cleaning up after M'tr and Goreanth will have to wait; Eleni finds herself escorting a passel of holders to the caverns, chattering away with a determined brightness. Eviyath stays alert until Goreanth is well and gone; only then will the tired queen relax and sleep.

S'tao gestures towards the stairway instead then, leading the way down to head over to the living caverns with all the other departing guests. "Alright then, couldn't hurt to raise a toast or two before heading back." On the way, he passes Q'luin coming in at last and he shakes his head at the other bronze rider. "Late for the show, but we'll be putting on our own soon eh?" With or without the queen's rider there to watch.

Burant grimaces, not spotting his quarry and gives up for the moment. He heads towards the feasting. Today is strange enough without anymore surprises! He actually cracks a smile, and chuckles himself down the stairs and out of the galleries.
Burant makes his way down the tiers towards the exit.

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